Another Time
by Underthewillows3
Summary: Sherlock and John are reaching retirement and their golden years. But illness threatens Sherlock's life and causes John to fear he may lose him, to lose everything. A continuation of my "Little Things" series.


It started with a few twinges of pain here and there, right in the center of his chest. He would sit down for a bit, rubbing the spot with his hand, always saying,

"It's fine, John, I'm alright."

John would furrow his brow at him, frowning as he watched his husband purse his lips together to breathe through the pain.

"If you're sure, Sherlock."

This would happen every few weeks or so, until one day John had had enough and drug him to the local surgery to get checked out.

"This is ridiculous, John, I am perfectly healthy," Sherlock muttered as they waited for the doctor.

"You need to get your heart checked out, chest pain isn't a joke, love."

Sherlock harrumphed and sat through the appointment, answering questions when spoken to, allowing the nurse to place the EKG stickers on his chest. He was diagnosed with angina, brought about by his years of drug abuse the doctor surmised, and given a variety of medications to take and a referral to a cardiologist.

They stopped for lunch in a sunny shop down the street from the surgery, walking down the street hand in hand afterwards, taking in the spring air. Laughing children ran past them, their parents frantically chasing after them.

John laughed to himself, "Remember when we would chase Indie and River down these streets, watching them kick up the cherry blossom petals."

Sherlock smiled.

"Of course, John, do you remember when our Charlotte was small enough to love running down the sidewalks, chasing butterflies and ladybugs."

Their Charlotte was nearly 13 now, growing tall and lovely just like her mother. She was smart as a whip too, joining Sherlock and John every chance she could to sort through case files and pictures. It was hard watching her grow up, they both loved having a little one around. Neither of them had counted on it, but children had brought them the greatest joy in their lives. Their girls and their little granddaughter had brought more smiles, more laughter, than anything ever did or ever could.

"It's so hard watching them grow up, isn't it? One minute you're their whole world and the next they've gone out into it." John said, brushing his foot across the pink petals that had fallen from the trees, "I suppose that's the point though, raising them to make a difference in the world, long after we're gone."

Sherlock's mouth upturned in a half smile, half grimace as he felt the familiar pang of pain in his chest. Fear filled him as he watched John talk. He didn't want to leave John so soon.

* * *

"Dada! Grandpapa! I'm here!" Charlotte's voice echoed up the stairs as she ran up them and into the front room. She saw Sherlock sitting in his chair and hurried to him, wrapping her arms around him.

"What did the doctor say, Dada?" She asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"That your Dada is just fine, don't concern yourself, darling," Sherlock said, brushing his hand over her hair.

"Well someone has to worry about you," Charlotte said firmly.

"Leave that to me, love," John said from the kitchen where he stood drying dishes from dinner.

Charlotte turned to him, her hazel eyes shining.

"But then who will worry about you, Grandpapa?"

* * *

They spent the evening playing Cluedo in front of the fire, mugs of tea sitting beside them all, John becoming terribly frustrated with both of their insistences that the victim had planned his own murder.

"Alright, Charlotte, off to bed with you," John said as he cleaned up the mugs and game.

"Grandpapa, I'm not a little kid anymore, you don't need to tell me to go to bed," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes as she got up from the floor and gave Sherlock and John kisses goodnight.

"Goodnight, my darling, sleep well," Sherlock said, "tomorrow we can go over the case with the missing grocer."

Charlotte smiled and waved one last goodnight before going into her bedroom.

Sherlock pulled himself from the floor into the chair, sighing as he did.

"John, we should discuss the matter of my will," he hesitantly began, "we both know my heart is weak, these pains are just a signal of something worse to come."

"Sherlock, we're not doing this tonight, not now. You'll see the cardiologist soon and they can fix these things right up. No death talk, you're only 64." John said stubbornly, poking at the fire.

Sherlock merely nodded, his gray curls bobbing up and down slightly.

* * *

They spent the next few months in and out of doctors' appointments, Sherlock growing weaker as time went on. River and Charlotte spent more and more time at 221B Baker Street, afraid that he would leave them soon.

"River Grace, could you get me a blanket from the sofa over there, I feel a bit chilled," Sherlock said one evening as they all sat together.

"Of course, Daddy, are you feeling alright?" She asked as she placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

"Never better, darling, just cold, don't concern yourself."

Despite his assurances, his chill was the start of pneumonia. He came home from hospital several days later, more pale than John had ever seen him.

He settled Sherlock onto the sofa, fluffing a pillow behind his head.

"Alright then, love?" He asked.

"Yes, John, I'm alright," Sherlock said, laying his head down, "but we need to discuss the matter of my death."

John visibly shuddered, "Sherlock, enough, you are not dying, you're going to get better and we're going to continue as we were!"

"John, you know I was near the brink during this hospital stay, the doctors said so. I simply want you to be taken care of, for River and Charlotte to be taken care of." He said, pulling the navy blue blanket over him, "we always knew I would be first, I wasn't kind to myself in my youth, and now I'm reaping those rewards."

John turned towards Sherlock, tears visible in his deep blue eyes.

"Sherlock, please…"

Sherlock reached out towards John, beckoning him to come over to him. John walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa, taking Sherlock's thin hand in his.

"I can't lose you, Sherlock, I can't do it," John said with a sob finally breaking through his stoic façade.

"Alright, John, it's alright. We can discuss this another time."

* * *

And that time continued to pass, Charlotte's 13th birthday coming and going, Christmas and New Year's, until John and Sherlock found themselves in the midst of the grey and cold London winter.

They had just settled into bed, Sherlock wrapping the nasal cannula around his ears and placing the prongs into his nose. He had to sleep with oxygen at night now, his lungs weak and struggling to provide him with enough oxygen on their own.

John leaned over and gave Sherlock a kiss.

"Goodnight, love."

Sherlock smiled up at the man he so loved.

"Goodnight, John, I love you," Sherlock said.

John brushed his thumb across the cheekbones that were growing sharper every day.

"I love you too, I'll see you in the morning." He said as he always did, placing another kiss on the pale cheek.

They fell asleep hand in hand as they always did, thin fingers intertwined with rough, calloused ones.

* * *

A girl with blonde ringlets down her back, wearing a white summer dress, was kicking pink cherry blossom petals under her feet when she saw a man in the distance, the sun setting behind him. She broke into a wide smile, her sweet dimples showing. She started running toward the man, arms outstretched.

"Papa!"

John blinked once, then again when he heard that voice he hadn't heard for nearly 30 years.

"Indie?" He whispered to himself as the little girl came closer.

"Papa, it's me! I've been waiting for you!" She yelled as she jumped into his arms.

John held Indie close to him, bursting into tears with relief at having his little girl again, but in sadness as he realized what all of this meant.

* * *

They buried John next to his Indigo Rose, underneath the willow tree that grew so green in the summer sun. River wheeled Sherlock close to the black granite that rose from the snow-white ground. He placed a single sunflower and a long-forgotten aluminum cane on the grave. River Grace and Charlotte Indigo stood quietly on either side of Sherlock, tears tracking down their reddened cheeks, their curls blowing in the harsh winter winds.

"Thank you, John, for teaching me how to love, for giving me the family I never thought I wanted, for being my best friend, for being everything. I'll be with you soon, I promise." Sherlock whispered.

Charlotte sniffled, wiping her tears with her gloved hand.

"At least they're together again, that's what Grandpapa wanted so much, to see Auntie Indie."

Sherlock nodded silently, taking her and River's hand in his. They soon turned and went back up the hill to the car, leaving the willow branches waving, the yellow petals of the sunflower shifting in the wind, pieces of their hearts bleeding on the freshly fallen snow.


End file.
